I'm Not Your Father
by Peahopeless
Summary: It's Christmas time in London and V wants to make the holiday all the more enjoyable by surprising Evey with a bit of redecorating when she arrives for the evening. Later, unexpected weather prompts Evey to spend her first night in the new Shadow Gallery.


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**Disclaimer:** As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros.

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes:** Trying to fulfill a Christmas request from a reader. Royalmanga, this one's for you. This will also introduce Evey's first night staying below in the new Shadow Gallery. (Chastely, at this point, but below nonetheless.)

I'm going to assume here, that if Norsefire was as radically religious as they appeared in the movie, then they might have outlawed things that they feared to have pagan roots. Christmas trees, for example.

**This story has accompanying artwork**. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on,"I'm Not Your Father".

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**I'm Not Your Father **

The merry old Christmas season, and London was in full swing. This, the third after the revolution, would see the return of the famous Christmas tree to Trafalgar Square -- -- it having taken that long just to clear out Parliament's exploded rubble.

The humour hidden behind such a turn of events did not escape Evey, that evening as she rushed down to the Shadow Gallery's entrance. -- -- Norsefire had kept the tree out of Trafalgar for over a decade, outlawing anything that even hinted at the slightest of pagan roots. Then V had stolen the opportunity for another two more years, by covering the Square in rubble. -- -- That poor tree.

Actually, on second thought, did that make V into the Grinch?

Apparently not, based on what she found when she finally arrived in his lair.

"A tree?" she laughed, the second she walked into his main sitting room. "You have a Christmas tree?"

V looked up from where he knelt, adjusting the tree's pot into its precisely chosen spot on the floor. "Ahhh, you're early, Evey," he greeted happily.

"It's windy up there ... I'm cold. And you have a Christmas tree."

His head cocked, and Fawkes' grin seemed especially genuine. "Shall I ever cease to be amazed by your powers of observation?"

Rather than laugh, she just pulled a sarcastic expression. "Yeah, well, I never pictured you as some jolly Old Saint Nick."

"Neither have I," he agreed. "But I must admit I'm pleased to see his return to England after all these years. More light to erase the gloom."

Evey nodded ... a nod of complete and continued disbelief. "And so you decided to go out and get a tree."

V rose to his full height, pausing for a moment as he chose his answer. "I decided to go out and get a tree," he repeated, "because I considered that perhaps you might enjoy a Christmas remembrance, during these evenings you grace my humble abode."

... ... Her breath caught for a moment, ending in a softer smile. She'd suspected as much, but hearing the sentiment in his own words ... ... well ... ...

Not even taking off her coat, she found her feet once again ... moving to his side to enjoy a much nicer, much warmer welcome.

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That he'd also acquired some attractively tasteful ornaments surprised her no further ... he was nothing if not thorough. And so their evening was spent hanging, of all things, silky white Christmas balls and dark red bows on the evergreen.

And in the background, an old version of Dickens▓s 'A Christmas Carol' played in the disk player. V seemed to prefer the older versions of things ... maybe in a subconscious attempt to distance himself temporally from Larkhill and the beginning of those horrible Norsefire years.

"I haven't seen this version in so long," Evey commented, reaching for the remote to rewind a particularly enjoyable scene. "I think I've always liked this one best too. Although I hate that part when young Scrooge puts off his fiancИe. A bit like Edmund Dantes, even." ... ... She glanced toward V, adding with clear implication, "Too focused, to the exclusion of all else. -- -- Too foolish."

V nodded slowly. "In hand and hope of action: but we do learn," he replied. "Fortunately, we may be afforded the opportunity to amend our ways. Even if only to right the wrongs we inflict on the innocent."

Evey nodded as well, knowing any apologies from this man she loved would always be held to one unique standard: regretting only how he might have affected her in particular, rather than regretting any decisions that had finally set England free. But still ... ... she understood.

And when she'd rewound the movie to the spot she wanted, she returned to the tree, picking up a tangled mess of hooks in order to worm just one out from the others.

"It's been a long time since I did this too," she smiled. "I must have been, like, eight ... the last time we had a Christmas tree. And I'll have you know, I don't think I ever got over the loss of Santa either."

V chuckled. Why was he suddenly flashing to a young Evey, pouting over a portly man in a red furry coat? In his unique perspective on the world, such things had always been silly at best; ludicrous at worst. But this particular image ... ... surprisingly adorable.

"Well, surely you had trees these most recent years," he presumed. "Christmas's rebirth with the revolution."

She shook her head in the negative, reaching to wire the next bow to the tree. "The first Dec 25th after Parliament came down, most people were just trying to recover. There was still fighting everywhere. You know that ... you must have seen enough of it. No one was in the mood for any festivities. And then last year," ... ... her eyes lowered a bit, focusing more than was actually needed on her fingers' task ... ... "I guess it was just me who wasn't in the mood. -- -- To celebrate much of anything, really."

Her hand was barely away from the newly positioned ornament when it was captured by his, soft leather wrapping around her fingers ... his eyes heavy upon her.

"Then we'll celebrate this year, love. Perhaps it's high time I do so as well."

... ... "I'd like that," she agreed with genuine hopefulness. Then a small smile ... a squeeze of his hand ... and she reached for the next bow.

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Decorating a tree can become quite a long process, when the participants spend most of their time reliving the past.

For every silky white ball hung, and every velvety red bow tied to the tree, Evey could offer a random memory of Christmas past. Moments of her childhood that she'd thought were lost to the ether ... drawn up now from the depths of her memory by the ability to finally find some joy in them again -- rather than only loss and melancholia.

What a normal life she had led, before the hell of oppression had entered her world. And like a child would do, she'd never appreciated those moments until it was far too late.

... ... But V did.

He loved first-hand accounts of her history ... on any childhood topic. Even a soliloquy about her favorite stuffed animals would have fascinated him. For one thing, they helped -- in some vicarious way -- fill the vacancy of having no such memories of his own. And for another thing ... well ... these were among the ingredients that made Evey, 'Evey'.

Although he did hope she would not tell tales of her young crushes any time soon. He could be spared that, thank you very much.

It was some time later, then -- -- quite beyond the short visit they'd originally planned for the evening -- -- when the task was finally completed. The last decoration hung, they stepped back to observe their handiwork.

"Not bad," she smiled. "Maybe tomorrow I'll bring down a," ... ... her thought trailed off as she glanced toward the clock on the disk player. Nearly midnight? How had that happened?

V's gaze followed hers to discern exactly what held her attention. "Oh my. I'm afraid I should have been escorting you home over an hour ago. My apologies. Shall we take ... ..."

Now it was his words that trailed off as she waved her hand with a shushing, "Wait, wait."

There was a ticker-tape news bulletin scrolling along the bottom of 'A Christmas Carol'. A rather impressive feat, when you consider that the movie was supposed to be playing off of a disk.

It wasn't hard to deduce what had happened though. -- -- Against all odds, the disk had ended, turned off, and a televised version of the exact same movie had kicked in. No wonder they hadn't realized how much time had passed.

"Look at that," she muttered, pointing toward the television.

V's eyes were coaxed off of her for a second time, now to read the same weather warning she was. Another act of 'nature' it seemed. Unexpected snow was blanketing London -- and at an alarming rate. Four inches so far, with another four expected overnight.

"Well," he sighed. "It appears we should be moving with even more haste than I thought. I fear it won't be the most pleasant journey, but we'll get you home safe and sound."

Seconds passed while Evey made a decision. ... ... Then uttered a veiled request.

... ... "Do I have to?"

She'd been wondering for some time, what it would be like to spend the night in his new Shadow Gallery. Not as his prisoner of yore. Nor as someone in hiding from dangerous fingermen or clever coppers. But this time, as nothing more than his guest.

A guest who wanted to be there.

A guest who loved him.

And now the BBC had just 'happened' to be playing that precise movie, thereby disguising the passage of time? And a snow front had just 'happened' to move in by random freak of nature?

It seemed almost too good to be true. It seemed almost 'coincidental'.

Which meant, it seemed almost fated.

V's attention landed on her yet again while he tried to deduce if she really was asking what he thought she was asking. "Do you mean, do you have to journey out into the snow?"

"I mean ... couldn't I just stay down here tonight?" she clarified. "I mean ... it's not like I've never spent time below in the past. And we are ... ... well ... ... together now."

Ironically, his resultant stare was not because he was searching for a way to decline. Nor was he even questioning her wish. In actuality, he was silently wondering to himself, how -- or even if -- he should reveal the truth. ... ... That nearly a month ago, he'd already brought a proper bed into the Gallery for just such a possibility. Something she could use, rather than the chaise lounge he preferred.

His first attempt at a word was a silent failure ... something only the mask would ever be aware of. "If you wish," he finally stated, trying not to stammer, and actually succeeding fairly well. "Yes, there's a spare bedroom in which you could stay."

He paused ... had she noted the oddness of him having already set up a spare bedroom so soon? Apparently not, fortunately ... so he continued. -- -- "But if that is the case, then perhaps I should at least dash to your flat and bring you some more comfortable sleeping attire."

Evey glanced back at the tickertape, keeping her eyes safely there as she made her next suggestion. "It sounds like it's getting messy up there, if those bulletins are any indication. Couldn't I just use something of yours? One of your shirts or something?"

Good thing she wasn't looking. Not even that infamous mask possessed the ability to completely block V's stunned reaction. The images that were floating through his mind ... ... if only she could see them ... ... or on second thought, maybe not. If only she could feel the flush rushing to his ragged skin. "If you're sure ... that you would be comfortable enough. Yes, of course you may use one."

Evey's attention returned to her beau, as soon as she heard the short exhalation that routinely signaled his re-collection of himself. "Yeah. I could go look for something right now, actually. Make sure. Would that be ok?"

V swallowed. There came a new wave of images. ... ... Evey standing in front of his small closet. ... ... This woman he loved, beautifully and coyly bedecked in one of his own shirts. ... ... "Yes, of course. That would be fine."

She nodded -- a little more shyly than she wanted to appear; crossed her arms; dropped her eyes as she smiled; and took her first few steps toward the old tube tunnel that led to his bedroom.

"Evey," he called, before she got very far.

She turned. "Yeah?"

His initial reply was silence ... he merely pointed his finger toward the box from which the ornaments had emerged. She stepped closer, peering in the direction he indicated.

A smaller box remained nested within the larger. Something she'd missed earlier. Or had just assumed it was extra cardboard.

"I'm afraid we've forgotten something, love," he purred. "Having been side-tracked as we were."

She picked it up, opening it to find ... ... an angel. In cream colored clothing, it smiled benevolently beneath its halo ... red hair cascading to the side.

And Evey smiled. How perfect.

"When I was little, my favorite angel was actually a lot like this. Red hair and everything. Although I messed it up a bit one year, playing dolls before my mum could get it away from me."

V chuckled ... another wonderful memory that he would file away in his mind.

"And my parents always let me be the one to put it on top of the tree." She glanced up, her smile growing, one set of fingers carefully straightening and stroking the angel's hair. "My father would lift me up on his shoulders."

Another moment, while V's heart raced just as fast as it would during any battle. Then he stepped beside her, one gloved hand landing on her shoulder, only to run lightly down her arm in preparation. "I'm not your father," he stated with a quite obvious sincerity. His other arm was moving too, already dropping. "And I'm not going to put you on my shoulders."

With that, he scooped her up in his arms, his superior strength making it quite literally no more challenging than lifting a feather.

She had to cradle the angel at her chest, while her beau equally cradled her. One feminine arm went around his neck -- hanging on, but not merely for stability. And that mask. ... ... Cold white metal brushed tentatively yet purposefully against her cheek. ... ... She could actually hear the momentary halt of his respiration.

He moved them closer to the tree, ensuring that she was high enough to reach the top, but doing so without ever taking his eyes from hers. He could barely think as it was, knowing little more than the need to pull her closer.

And the feeling was perhaps even more mutual than he realized. It went against every fiber in her being, when she turned away to clip the angel to the evergreen.

Was it on straight? She didn't know. Didn't care.

Neither did he.

And it was she who made the next move, purposefully wrapping both arms more tightly around his neck. He'd made no move to put her down yet, and she clearly was not asking.

The mask dipped to her face once more, and the idea of trapping her into the curve of his neck -- -- into that safety -- -- was utterly overwhelming. Something he simply could not resist as he tilted her harder against himself, embracing her with fervor rather than mere support, and coaxing her head beneath his jaw.

That was when she finally risked the thought that had been flitting in and out of her head all evening. A joke. Or a serious comment. Both at once, really. Popping up every time she looked at the Fawkes visage.

"You're missing another key part of Christmas, you know," she teased. One fingertip went to the mask, tracing the shiny metal. He felt the touch. Even though it wasn't the 'real' him, and even though she couldn't see his 'real' eyes ... she knew he felt it.

Then she said the magic word. ... ... "Mistletoe."

... ... And such relief she found when he actually chuckled.

Not so much at the idea, mind you ... but at her mere determination to even suggest such a thing in the first place.

It was enough of a distraction, and she pressed her face further into the curve of his neck, placing a kiss to the black fabric that stretched up toward the mask. Mistletoe or no mistletoe, she would not be stopped.

He squeezed her still more tightly -- -- a reminder of his deepest and truest affection -- -- then, most reluctantly, forced his arms to return her to her feet.

"You do enjoy tempting fate, don't you, Evey," he observed ... both as a warning, and an amusement.

She grinned most mischievously, enjoying the lingering slide of his hands as they slowly departed from her. "Fate doesn't scare me," she replied, her grin gaining even more confidence as the words reached the air.

Then she glanced back toward the television, where that tickertape still scrolled. The accompanying picture had switched to a special news report. -- -- Snow was falling everywhere ... and heavily.

"Doesn't scare me at all, in fact," she emphasized. She cast him one more glance -- so knowing and so full of love -- before she would finally turn away and go in search of her impromptu Gallery sleeping attire ... ... "I'd say that fate has done nothing but smile on me these last few months."

V nodded his agreement, then squeezed her hand one last time ... ... awash in the joy that she would not be far away this night. "Has smiled on both of us, love" he amended. ... ... "Indeed. Has smiled on both of us."

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"In hand and hope of action: but we do learn." -- Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**This story has accompanying artwork**. To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on,"I'm Not Your Father".


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